The Next Day A Pilot Sequel
by RevSue
Summary: What happened the day after Carolyn and her family moved into Gull Cottage? A sequel ..


_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I make no money from this work of fiction!_

_NOTE: This falls into the "Two great minds with but a single thought" category! I wrote a sequel to the pilot and sent it to 'Melchy,' for her to look at. She said she had written one also, so when both stories were completed, we posted them simultaneously to the GAMM loop – So we are doing likewise with Fan-Fiction Net! 'The Next Day' – another offering! (S)_

Carolyn awoke gradually. She vaguely remembered someone talking just before she drifted into a deep sleep . . . Talking to her? She couldn't remember. Her eyes opened, unfocused, wonderingly taking in the intimacy of the dark paneled room, so different from the ice blue bedroom she had shared with Robert in their Philadelphia apartment. Then the complete memories of the night before flooded over her, and she sat up abruptly, clutching the sheets about her, staring wildly around. No one . . .

Gradually she relaxed and lay back on the pillows. "Perhaps he only comes at night?" That seemed far-fetched . . . No, the whole episode the night before had to have been a result of being overtired and emotionally drained from the ordeal of moving. How silly she was being . . . To think she had seen a ghost! There was no such thing as ghosts! Everyone knew that. Except maybe that peculiar Mr. Gregg who had come to tell her she couldn't live here after all because Gull Cottage was haunted. He had fled, terrified, after a fall down the stairs. Poor man. Perhaps he was a little simple . . . Touched. His letters had not shown that side of him, however.

Shrugging off the conundrum, Carolyn got up, looking around her room appreciatively. It was a lovely room. She stood at the telescope, frowning slightly at the open French door. She had been sure she had closed it last night before retiring. Then she peeked through the lens, and saw a few sailboats out on the bay. She found she rather liked being so close to the sea, where she can see the masts from the window of her room. So different from city sights. Now, and more especially last night, when she had closed her eyes, she had heard the sound of the ocean. It almost made her believe she was on board one of the boats out there. Again Carolyn looked around the room, at all the nautical pieces. The former owner of Gull Cottage had been a sea captain. Being a man of the sea, he obviously needed to be able to hear the slap of waves and feel the pull of the tide. Carolyn supposed that she would have wanted the same for herself if she were to build a home after a lifetime on the water. And Gull Cottage seemed a fine, sturdy structure. A little dirty, of course, but she and Martha could take care of that.

Carolyn dressed quickly in an old shirt and pants – Knowing today was another cleaning day. They had given the house a lick and a promise the day before, but had to get down to some serious work if they thought to make Gull Cottage into the kind of home she dreamt of having for her children. Leaving her room with a mental promise to organize things on the desk as soon as possible, Carolyn passed a door in the hallway she hadn't noticed before. Opening it, she found herself confronted with a narrow flight of stairs leading upward . . . To the attic, she assumed. Great festoons of cobwebs hung heavily over the stairway. With a grimace, Carolyn shut the door quickly. The attic could wait a few weeks. She had to get the main part of the house done, and then write some articles commissioned by her late employer in order to make some more money so they could continue to live here!

Checking the children's room, she found it deserted. Following the sound of excited voices, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen where Martha was serving up pancakes.

"Good morning." Carolyn greeted them with a bright smile. "How did you all sleep?"

"You mean, after you dragged us all up out of our comfortable beds, made us pack everything, threw us in the car and took us for a mile drive in a circle before telling us we were staying after all?" Martha's sarcasm was heavy, but her smile was wide as she put a cup of coffee in front of Carolyn.

"I told you yesterday that I love this house, Mom!" Candy said. "We were out exploring! When can we go swimming?"

"As soon as I find out about the beach. For all we know, there are dangerous undertows. So please don't even go down there until I've asked Mr. Gregg." Carolyn cautioned.

"Speaking of Mr. Gregg, I'd like you to speak to him about the washing machine and dryer you said he had promised were here."

"You did some washing yesterday!" Carolyn was surprised. "What's wrong with them?"

"The dryer is nonexistent. There was a line out back, but it has fallen down. And although I have certainly used wringer washers in my day, I had hoped for a newer one than that old thing. It must be as old as the house!" Martha snorted.

"It's not." Jonathan said, calmly buttering his pancake. "It belonged to the last lady who lived here. Captain Gregg didn't like her. Oh, and he said the beach is perfectly safe to swim at 'cause it's actually a big sand bar that goes out a long way, and there are practically never huge waves or undertows unless there is a big storm, and what did we expect? Man-eating sharks?"

"Mom! He's at it again!" Candy burst out. "I hate him talking about a ghost!"

"Jonathan, stop scaring your sister." Carolyn said automatically. She and Martha looked at each other, and both raised their eyes. That's when they both saw the cobwebs trailing across the ceiling.

"I guess we need mops and a ladder to reach the ceilings in this house. I'll pick up a stepladder when I go in to see Mr. Gregg. If I go this morning, maybe we can have a laundry room set up in that back porch by this afternoon." Carolyn said.

"Maybe . . . " Martha spoke doubtfully. "Although Mr. Gregg didn't strike me as the go-getter type, if you know what I mean. But I'm itching to get at all the ceilings . . . And that chandelier in the front hall!"

Carolyn looked down at her clothes. "I guess if I'm going to town, I'd better change. Do you want to come with me, Candy and Jonathan?"

"I will." Candy said, promptly.

"I'll stay here and visit." Jonathan said.

"Visit?" Carolyn looked at him, puzzled.

"With Captain Gregg."

Rolling her eyes, Candy said nothing. Carolyn smiled as Martha sniffed. Jonathan finished his pancake. "Can I have another?"

"May I have another?" Carolyn corrected him.

"You want another, too?" The boy grinned cheekily at her. Everyone laughed.

Carolyn drained her coffee and went upstairs to her room. She hesitated a moment in the doorway. The hairs prickled on her arms. What was it? Looking around, she wondered if, by any chance, there had been a movement by the telescope. Slowly Carolyn walked into the room, feeling as if she were being watched closely. "H-hello?"

There was no answer. Naturally. She was letting these ghost stories get to her. Jonathan must have heard Mr. Gregg's hysterical assertion that the ghost of the Captain was still in the house, and the boy had seized on that. His imagination rivaled hers at times. He really hadn't met the Captain, had he? She had only dreamt the meeting herself, hadn't she? Yet, why had she made everyone get up and leave if it had only been a dream? Somewhat unnerved, Carolyn chided herself for such foolishness. She changed quickly, and fled back downstairs.

Finding Mr. Gregg's office in Schooner Bay was easy. Having him make sense was a little more difficult. He seemed certain that she was there to demand her rent money back.

"Why would you swim, anyway?" he asked, when Carolyn's first question was about the beach.

"It's a beach." Candy said patiently, as if he was far younger than she was.

"Well, I guess you can go down there. He might not mind. It's not the house, after all."

"Mr. Gregg, is the beach safe?" Carolyn asked again.

"I just said he might not . . . Oh! You mean safe! As in, to swim? Yes, yes it's fine. Schooner Bay built a stone jetty across part of the cove . . . So there aren't any problems swimming anywhere."

"Thank-you." Carolyn wondered if she should even bother mentioning the next item . . . But Martha was counting on her. "Umm, Mr. Gregg, I know I took Gull Cottage sight unseen, but there are a few things . . . "

"A deal's a deal, Mrs. Muir. You took it as is . . . "

"But Mr. Gregg, you promised a washer and dryer. We'd like an automatic washer, not an old wringer washer. And the clothesline in the backyard hardly qualifies as a dryer . . . let alone a line, since half of it is buried in the bushes and the rest trails across the lawn haphazardly . . . "

"An automatic?" He almost screeched. "No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Muir, but I . . . Uhh!" Mr. Gregg's face suddenly was terror-stricken as he looked at his desk.

Carolyn stared in amazement, then thankfulness flooded in when he stood up.

"Yes, yes," He stuttered, his eyes not meeting hers, but roving wildly over the room. "Anything! I'll have them delivered up in an hour! Just don't come near me!"

Carolyn took a step backwards, swallowing. What had she done? No, it wasn't her; it was definitely Mr. Gregg. Was he having a seizure or something? Candy slipped her hand into her mother's and tugged.

"Let's leave!" she whispered urgently. "Martha wants the ladder, remember?"

Allowing her daughter to pull her out of Mr. Gregg's office, Carolyn still puzzled over the man's actions. At the hardware store, they saw Mr. Peavey. His face flushed when he caught sight of Carolyn, and he muttered about having just a bit left on the paint job anyway and sorry he was out in such a hurry but he had suddenly remembered something . . .

Carolyn said, "Well, I can't really pay you until the job is done, Mr. Peavey. When do you think you'd be able to finish?"

"Well, now, that's hard to say . . . " The man squirmed.

Candy, very sagely, said, "Martha's baking a cherry pie for supper tonight. She makes the best cherry pie in the world. Do you like that?"

"My favorite."

"Mine too. Maybe you could have a piece if you came this afternoon."

Candy's grin was engaging. "Then our living room would look great with it all painted! You only have a little bit left."

"Might. Then again, might not. But the offer sounds mighty tempting."

"I'd be able to pay you this afternoon if you could come and do that bit of wall . . . " Carolyn added her temptation to her daughter's.

Still unwilling to commit himself, Mr. Peavey's face showed his indecision. Carolyn smothered a smile when he said finally, "Don't know why I forgot that appointment yesterday . . . I suppose the boy told you I ran out fast?"

"Well, yes . . . He said you had to leave. He thought maybe you had hurt your hand or your nose . . . " Candy said. She eyed him curiously. "They look okay now . . . "

Mr. Peavey turned away. "They're fine." Then he swung back. "You saw nothin' last night?"

"Like what?" Carolyn asked.

"You know, Things . . . " He lowered his voice, trying to talk to Carolyn without Candy knowing.

"Mr. Peavey, you can't keep letting your imagination run away with you." Carolyn said firmly, squashing her own doubts.

"Just think about the pie." Candy added her voice to her mother's. "You won't be sorry."

He gave in. "Very well, I'll be up at 3:00. Shouldn't take too long."

"We'll be waiting." Carolyn smiled. She paid for the stepladder, and Mr. Peavey loaded it into the station wagon, and the two headed back for Gull Cottage.

Martha welcomed the ladder. "Good! Now we can reach those unreachable places among the stars! High ceilings are lovely to look at, but awful to clean!"

"Well, let's get started . . . In the kitchen, first!" Carolyn said. "I just have to change again . . . " She ran up the stairs and into her room. Again she stopped abruptly as her eyes landed on the telescope. Had it moved? And why did she have the feeling of being watched so closely? "There are no ghosts!" she muttered to herself, stripping off her good blouse. Awareness prickled down her spine. She shivered a little as she picked up her work shirt, and looked around quickly. Nothing. "I'll be talking to myself if I don't watch out, then they'll commit me, and then who will clean those ceilings?" Shrugging into the shirt, she hurriedly did up the buttons, and left the room.

Between them, it didn't take long for Carolyn and Martha to wipe down the kitchen ceiling, although Martha was muttering darkly about a scrub brush and maybe the garden hose for next time. They moved the ladder out to the front hall and set it up under the chandelier which they planned to take apart to clean. Then both looked up in utter astonishment. The ceiling and the chandelier were spotless.

"Ship-shape and Bristol-fashion, all right." Martha said. "And to think you did it all without my help or knowledge!"

"I didn't do it!" exclaimed Carolyn.

"I bet it was Captain Gregg!" Jonathan said.

"Yeah, right." Scoffed Candy. "Let's go to the beach."

Still puzzled about the ceiling, Carolyn said they could.

"If you didn't do the ceiling, how was it cleaned? And look at the sparkle on that chandelier!" Martha wondered aloud.

Carolyn couldn't answer, as she had no idea. She did not believe in ghosts! Then they were interrupted by a truck at the gate, honking. It seemed that the washer and dryer had arrived. However, the men who delivered them acted terrified, muttering about ghosts, strange noises, and weird happenings. They moved the things into the laundry room and hooked them up as quickly as possible. Both jumped and screeched when Martha cleared her throat, which annoyed the housekeeper so much that she refused to give them anything to eat or drink for their trouble. Not that the men would have stayed anyway, Carolyn decided. They were much too intent on leaving as fast as they possibly could. The washer and dryer weren't new, but they were acceptable. One man volunteered that they were from one of Claymore's other houses.

"Claymore?" Carolyn questioned. "Oh, you mean, Mr. Gregg?"

"Yes'm. But nobody calls him that . . . Just Claymore."

"And it was his great-uncle who built this house, wasn't it?" Carolyn asked, making idle conversation. But at that point, a loud clap of thunder was heard. The men dropped their tools and ran for the truck, and soon had roared off down the road.

"I'm beginning to wonder just where we've landed." Martha said, grimly.

Carolyn silently agreed. Then the children came in for lunch. Their faces were bright and happy as they talked about the sand and shells on the beach, and Carolyn realized anew why she had wanted to leave their cramped quarters in the city and start afresh.

As soon as lunch was over, the children were off again. Carolyn went into the living room to do more cleaning while Martha polished the banister. While she worked, Carolyn had the strange feeling that the eyes in the portrait followed her around. She tried not to look at it, but felt more and more that she was being watched. Finally she stopped in front of the fireplace, with her hands on her hips, and stared back at the portrait. Then she heard a slight noise and a footstep behind her. Whirling, her green eyes huge in a face drained of color, she saw Martha. Carolyn's face grew pink.

Martha laughed. "I've had peculiar reactions before . . . But I must say, when I look at that rather creepy portrait, I feel the same panic you seem to be feeling."

"It's not panic . . . " Carolyn tried futilely to defend herself. Martha nodded, unconvinced, and went back to her own task.

With a show of bravado and avoiding the eyes of the portrait, Carolyn began to dust again, whistling loudly to bolster her courage. As she picked up a decanter and wineglasses, she had a flash of herself in a long dress and intricate bun in her hair, clicking wineglasses with the Captain. Carolyn shook her head to clear it and kept working.

Ridiculous! She had another flash of herself in a different hairstyle – This time dancing with Captain. Carolyn's eyes were drawn to the portrait, his incredibly blue eyes, and his lips. What would it feel like, to be kissed by such a man as this? Carolyn angrily spun away from the portrait again. She had tamped down on all such feelings since Robert's death.

"I've no time for romantic nonsense!" She declared under her breath. "My priorities are my children and my work! That will be enough. It will have to be. So there!" and she childishly stuck her tongue out at the portrait, then began cleaning and whistling as before.

From his vantage-point of invisibility, Captain Gregg kept watch over her as he had done all day. This beautiful young widow was all soft golden hair and eyes as green as the sea. He loved watching her. The way she moved, with such fierce energy. She looked tiny and fragile, but beneath the delicate looks, there was such strength. It was there in her eyes. In her voice. There was fearlessness in her that touched something deep inside him. What a magnificent mate she would make for any man strong enough to win her heart. Then he stopped himself. What was he thinking? A mate? He had no right to such thoughts! Growling to himself, he continued to eye the woman. How long would it be before she started throwing out his treasures, or ruining his precious antiques?

Carolyn moved the ladder in front of the fireplace, and looked up at the portrait again. Were those eyes following her? Nonsense! Ghosts simply did not exist! She climbed up the ladder and stretched to dust along the top of the portrait. Then she distinctly heard a man clear his throat. She froze. Slowly her eyes dropped . . . In her work and twisting to reach higher than her head, one of the buttons on her shirt had come undone. The shirt was gaping open, and the swell of her breast encased in a lacy cup was visible at the portrait's eye level. A powerful surge of sexual awareness almost threw her off the ladder. Carolyn quickly dropped her arms and straightened her shirt, doing up the button. She looked around, but of course, saw no one. Had the noise been just a house noise? Or could there possibly be a ghost here? Filled with uncertainty, she eyed the portrait. Then her hand reached out hesitantly. She just wanted to touch the painting. Just before her hand made contact with the canvas, she felt shivers run down her arm. Her hand dropped to her side.

"No, I shouldn't touch it. I've heard that the oils from skin can wreck paintings." She spoke deliberately. She didn't want anyone or anything thinking that she was afraid. Deep inside, however much she refused to acknowledge it, the strong possibility lurked that the magnificent portrait which had so captured her interest the day before was indeed a link to the spirit of a magnificent man . . . The spirit she had met and tangled with last night!

There was still no change in the room, although the atmosphere almost throbbed with expectancy. Carolyn bit her lip, then climbed down the ladder and hurried out of the room. As she went through the door, deep chuckles followed her. She did not stop to investigate further. Surely she wasn't going mad!

Mr. Peavey arrived at 3:00 p.m. as promised and got right to work. He insisted that Carolyn stay in the room while he was painting, saying that he wanted to be sure he was doing things right. Carolyn was fidgety and her eyes kept drifting to the portrait, but nothing unusual happened. Martha was just taking the cherry pie she had baked out of the oven, and Carolyn suggested when he was done that he sit down and have a piece of pie and a cup of coffee.

"Thank-you. Don't mind if I do. I'll just get my things loaded in my truck . . . " And he bundled his pails and brushes and covering sheets unceremoniously together and dumped them in the old truck at the gate.

As he took his first bite of cherry pie, an expression of bliss came over his face. He chewed and swallowed, then looked solemnly at Martha. "I have to say, this is the best cherry pie I have ever had in my whole life. And that's saying something!"

Martha smiled, pleased. "Thank-you, Mr. Peavey."

"What was your name again?" he continued, taking another bite.

"Martha. Martha Grant. Miss Martha Grant." Martha was delighted.

Carolyn smiled at the emphasis, and then passed the check she had written over to the man. "Thank-you so much, Mr. Peavey. May we call upon you anytime we need some work done?"

He took a bite of pie, chewed it, swallowed it, and then said, "S'pose that would be all right. Specially if the work is outside."

"Thank-you."

At the supper table that night, Carolyn managed to push aside all the troublesome thoughts about the possibility of a ghost in Gull Cottage. She mentioned to Martha that she had to do some writing the next day, ". . . Or we'll be down to eating whatever fish we can catch!"

"What are you writing this time?" Jonathan asked.

"Well, Mr. Flynn wanted an article about beaches in this area, and another about unusual trees."

"Like the ugly thing in our yard?" Candy spoke up.

A low rumble of thunder passed overhead. Everyone looked up. Martha's voice was puzzled as she peered out the window. "Strange. The sky is blue."

"I guess Captain Gregg likes his tree." Jonathan said.

Candy turned to him indignantly, but before she could speak, Carolyn held up her hand.

"Please, Candy. If he wants to pretend about the Captain, he can."

Candy shrugged. "Yeah, I guess he's only six . . . "

"Age has nothing to do with it!" Carolyn interrupted Jonathan's outburst as well. "Now please, can we talk about something else?"

"I kind of thought you were going to write stories, Mrs. Muir." Martha mused.

"I'd like to." Carolyn's eyes shone at the thought. "That's what I really want to write. Short stories for magazines, to start, but . . . "

"Romances?" Martha's eyes gleamed.

The light in Carolyn's face seemed to dim. "No." She said, shortly. "I'm done with romance. I have no time for that anymore." Since Robert's death, she had shut herself away from that kind of pain.

Martha got to her feet. "Pity. They're my favorite."

"What are . . . Romance?" Jonathan asked curiously.

"Love stuff." Candy answered shortly. "Can I have more dessert, please?"

Jonathan made a grimace at the reference to love, then held up his plate. "Me too, please!"

Again from his unseen place in the kitchen, the Captain found himself pondering Carolyn's remark about having no time for romance. He wondered anew at her circumstances. He liked to think she was living under his roof, under his care and protection . . . Blast! What was he thinking? What witchery did she possess to make him think this way? She was only a woman! A woman who roused his protective instincts . . . Despite her fragile appearance, he suspected the steel beneath – She was worthy of him . . . Blast! He would not think along these lines again!

That night, Carolyn tucked the children into bed, and went to her own room. Goose bumps ran up her arms and she rubbed them absently as she walked out onto the balcony. Looking over the ocean, she ran her hands over the ship's wheel. She pretended she was on a ship, and steering it. The breeze off the ocean was brisk and her hair blew back from her face. She watched the moon spill its light onto the surface of the ocean, watched the way the light shimmered and shifted with the swells and eddies of the water. The motion soothed her, and stole her inhibitions completely. Here she could indeed start anew. No memories of Robert to hurt. Again she started whistling.

Then a voice came from behind her. "It's not very ladylike, not to mention downright rude to whistle in front of me. You did it this afternoon, and now you're doing it again!"

Carolyn jumped guiltily, putting her hands behind her back. Then she turned her eyes wide as she took in the man standing before her. How in the world had she ever managed to convince herself that she had imagined him? He was so ruggedly handsome; He stole her breath away. Such a strong face, with the most amazing blue eyes! Her heart leaped, her senses felt inflamed. How did he have such power over her emotions? This was insanity! "You . . . You are real." She stammered. "I didn't imagine you."

"Of course you didn't imagine me!" He spoke impatiently. "And of course I'm not real. What ghost is real? For a supposed writer, you're singularly inept with words."

Carolyn's lips tightened. "You're a fine one to talk about being rude. Were you watching me all day?"

"Of course." His tone was bland. "I had to keep an eye on you. No telling what two women can do with a mop and pail of water, especially after I heard talk of a garden hose."

"You cleaned the ceilings!" Then Carolyn flushed a little, remembered the episode with her gaping blouse, the portrait and a throat clearing. With any luck, he had forgotten all about it . . . Although she certainly had not. Her shadowed eyes glanced into his briefly, dropped to his lips, then she turned back quickly to the ocean. "I had hoped you were merely a figment of my imagination. That you were going to leave us alone."

"I will not leave my house!" He was incensed.

"But you said we could stay!" she protested, swinging back to him.

"I said nothing about my leaving, though. Blasted women! Thinking they can run a man's life! Didn't I tell you I wouldn't be caught?"

"But the children . . . " Began Carolyn.

"I won't scare the blasted children! Jonathan's a good lad – He'll not frighten as easily as his mother will. As for the girl . . . I'll steer clear of her."

"Scared?" Carolyn taunted, just wanting her family left alone. She glared at him. He was rude and unreasonable. Maybe it would be best to leave him alone until he was in a better mood. She walked right through him, and then gasped when she realized what she had done. Slowly she turned to face him.

He looked as astonished as she felt. "No one has ever dared such a thing before!" He thundered.

"You were in my way." Carolyn tried to shrug nonchalantly. She regained her composure. "Maybe next time you'll move."

She stalked back into the house, sitting on the chair at the desk. He strolled across the balcony as if it were a reeling deck on the high seas. He moved with a slightly rolling gait, and by the time he had come through the doors near Carolyn, she knew the rhythm of his bold strides, for his heavily booted footfalls came with uninterrupted regularity until he halted beside her. She was immediately sorry she had sat down, because now he towered over her. Not in a threatening way, exactly . . . But she felt completely at his mercy, and she didn't like the feeling. So she changed tactics, and tried to reason with him. "I'm also not happy with your language. Really, you should at least try . . . "

"Don't get bossy." His words were short.

That made her furious for a second, and then she managed a tight smile. "You're right. What you do is your concern. Except when it touches my family."

"There's no place for a blasted woman in my life!"

Her hands clenched into fists, and then with great effort, she relaxed. She realized suddenly that he was deliberately goading her, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing it was working. Clasping her hands together, she folded them in her lap, a ladylike pose that touched something inside him. He wished again that he had met her long ago.

"I understand." She gave him one of her dead-level perusals. "I did from the first."

He nodded. "That should be a relief . . . So why do I feel so blasted miserable?"

Carolyn laughed – Surprising him. "Maybe because you're doing what you think you should, and not what your heart wants." Maybe he was lonely . . . Being here all these years by himself. He probably missed a family life.

"I gave up on that organ a long time ago."

Her beautiful face became pensive. "So did I."

The confession did something to his feelings-Feelings he had thought were long gone. Her smile was so brave; It made him angry that she had been hurt by life. There was quietness in her eyes, as if she held herself still. With it was the sadness he had noted before.

"If we are to share Gull Cottage, I suppose we will both have to make allowances." The Captain spoke at last. Carolyn looked at him in silence. "I will endeavor to accept your family. It might be an interesting experience having you live with me, my dear." He spoke in a low, velvety tone, and his look was so suggestive that Carolyn felt as if her insides were turned out.

How strange . . . She had thought her love and desire had been buried with Robert. Now it seemed as if she were coming to life again. She wasn't sure she could handle this. He was an illusion, yet if she hadn't known better, she would have thought him a flesh and blood man. The thought flashed through her mind, 'What a pity he isn't.' Horrified, Carolyn clamped down on that strain of thinking. And yet, she was finding it hard to resist his magnetism. He was stunning even when frowning, but when he smiled, spoke in that incredibly beautiful tone and allowed those blue eyes to engulf her, she felt almost faint. How devastating he must have been in real life! No wonder he had boasted he could have had half a hundred women in every port should he have wanted them!

"Goodnight, Madam." His voice was soft. With one last long look, he vanished.

Carolyn stayed immobile, looking at the space where he had been. He had been there, hadn't he? She really had not imagined him. She couldn't have imagined anyone so . . . So incredibly masculine. For some strange reason, she felt more womanly than she had for quite a while. Desperately she tried to recall Robert's face in order to blot out this new feeling, but his youthful good looks paled in comparison to Captain Gregg's powerfully virile physique.

Going downstairs, Carolyn had a cup of tea with Martha in the kitchen before both women decided to turn in. It had been a long day, and probably would be tomorrow as well.

"Good night, Mrs. Muir."

"Good night, Martha."

Martha retreated to her downstairs bedroom, and Carolyn slowly mounted the steps to her room. Would the Captain still be there? Stepping into the master bedroom, she realized immediately that it was empty. She could hear his footsteps above her in the attic. She carefully closed the French doors, and her hands went to unbutton her shirt, then she hesitated. How would she know if he came back? What if he was just making the noises upstairs, but really was watching her? She couldn't sense his presence the way she had before, but how could she know for sure?

Finally, Carolyn could stand the suspense no longer. "Captain Gregg? Are you here?"

No answer.

She spoke a little louder. "Captain Gregg? Please, I need to speak with you."

He appeared before her, an irritated look on his face. "I am rather busy at the moment, Madam. I thought I had already bid you goodnight. I dislike being at the beck and call of anyone, let alone a woman."

"Thank-you for not calling me a blasted woman this time." Carolyn smiled.

His eyes softened at the sight. She had such a lovely smile, he thought to himself. It began in her eyes, which were of a beautiful deep green with flecks of gold in them. She was indeed enchanting.

"I also want to thank-you for leaving me my privacy." Carolyn continued.

"Madam, I am a gentleman."

"Well," Carolyn reminded him, "You were a scoundrel according to some of the stories we heard today . . . Also by your own admission last night. If you hadn't committed suicide, you probably would have been murdered by any number of jealous husbands."

At that, the Captain's eyes flashed. "I did not commit suicide! And if you had ever known a real man . . . " Then he stopped. Her face was stricken. Now feeling wretched, the Captain spoke gruffly, "I do apologize. I should not have said that. It is late, and our tempers appear to be uncertain. May I suggest that you go to bed? We can talk more tomorrow."

"But how can I undress if I don't know whether or not you're here?" Carolyn almost wailed.

"I could hardly put you in such a position. Most ungentlemanly." He paused, a wicked glint in his eye. "Although it does fit with the scoundrel part of me! But no, the gentleman wins out."

"So you'll leave?" Carolyn was half hoping he might go forever, yet wondered at the lost feelings she was suddenly experiencing.

"You have ten minutes to finish changing! After that, I cannot say. I am charting the sandbar and jetty out in Schooner Bay, and I may need the telescope. It is, after all, my room, too. I am merely allowing you share it with me."

"Oh!" Carolyn was swamped with embarrassment.

Then he laughed heartily. "My dear, no need to blush! Now, I bid you goodnight once more. I will keep watch on the bridge, as I did last night. And remember – You need not fear me. I am only an illusion."

With a courtly bow, he disappeared.

"Only an illusion?" Carolyn murmured her fingers feverishly at work changing into her nightclothes before he was back. Not that she really believed he would be back, but she wasn't taking any chances. "Captain Gregg, I don't believe you are only anything!" She hopped into bed and looked around for a moment. Good . . . He hadn't heard her last comment.

Snuggling into the sheets, Carolyn's eyes closed. She waited for several minutes, and then felt weariness steal over her like a soft mist. Dimly she was aware that the French doors opened, letting in the cool ocean breeze. Just as she drifted off to sleep, she heard a deep whisper echo in the room, "Thank-you for the compliment, Mrs. Muir. Sleep well."

End


End file.
